


Pokes, Prods, and Superheroes

by pathera



Series: Foggy Nelson, Professional Superhero Poker [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Foggy pokes things he should not poke, Gen, Guest Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathera/pseuds/pathera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy Nelson's first reaction to an unconscious superhero is to poke them. </p><p>His second is to call Matt and whine about it, because seriously, why does this keep happening to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pokes, Prods, and Superheroes

**Author's Note:**

> This show has eaten my brain. This is a serious problem guys, I can't STOP. 
> 
> For [this](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1442832#cmt1442832) prompt at the kinkmeme: Foggy's first reaction to the vigilantes/super-heros in his life...is to poke them with a stick.  
> (No, seriously. What does Foggy do when he finds an unconscious and bloodied vigilante in his best friend's apartment? He pokes him with a fucking stick.  
> Any and all Marvel characters are welcomed, though I have a special fondness for our lovely Red Team!)

i.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is in Matt’s apartment.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen just crumpled to the ground in Matt’s apartment.

Foggy has Matt’s cane in hands and he does the only reasonable thing, prodding the man in black. No response. Foggy tries it again, just to be sure, and pulls his phone out. Vigilante or not, the dude is obviously in bad shape and needs help and—Foggy squints.

That mouth looks awfully familiar.

He crouches down and peels the mask up and yeah. That’s Matt.

“You _sonofabitch_ ,” Foggy hisses, because he doesn’t know what to think, he wants to throw up and he wants to hit something and that’s _Matt_.

Foggy should’ve poked him harder.

 

ii. 

Foggy goes to take his trash out and finds a human-shaped pile of black and purple in front of his dumpster.

He nudges the man gently with his foot and receives a sharp hiss and half-hearted attempt at cursing as his answer that the person is, in fact, alive.

“God damn vigilantes,” he mutters, pulling out his phone to call Claire. She’s better equipped to deal with this shit than he is.

“M’not a vigilante,” the man groans. “I’m an Avenger.”

Foggy squints and hey, the dude _does_ kind of look like Hawkeye under all that blood and dirt.

On second thought, he’ll call Matt. He can deal with this.

 

iii. 

This is getting ridiculous.  

There is a lump of blue and red spandex crumpled in the corner of the alley. Foggy considers it with narrowed eyes and then grabs the nearest long object, which turns out to be a half broken broom.

He pokes the lump. It groans pitifully.

Somehow, Foggy is sure that this is Matt’s fault.

“You okay?” he asks.

The lump makes another pitiful sound. It’s like a puppy being kicked, honestly. Foggy inches closer, holding the broom like a weapon. The lump moves a little, and Foggy spots the edge of the spider symbol on its chest. Gently, Foggy prods what he thinks is a shoulder with the end of the broom again. “You alive in there, Spidey?”

“Ngnf,” Spiderman says.

“Okay buddy,” Foggy says. “I’m going to call one of your masked brethren to come fix you up, okay?” He dials Matt’s number and hopes that Matt will actually _answer_. Luckily, he does, and Foggy cuts him off before he can even say hello. “I found Spiderman in an alley.”

Matt’s silence is poignant. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

Matt sighs. “I’m on my way.”            

 

iv.

“Do not poke me with that,” the Black Widow says when he finds her sitting heavily on the fire escape of his apartment building, her eyes closed and a streak of blood down the side of her face. Foggy looks down at the baseball bat in his hand and puts it away ruefully.

He wasn’t _really_ thinking about it anyway.

“Do you—uh, do you need me to call anyone?” he asks. “I think I’ve still got Hawkeye’s number. I found him like, twenty feet down from where you are.”

Black Widow opens one eye, looks at him, and then closes it again, leaning her head back against the metal railing. “You’re Matt’s friend,” she says.

“Um,” Foggy says, because _yes_ , that is true, but he is extremely disconcerted by the fact that Natasha fucking Romanov knows who Matt is. “Yes? Are we talking about the same Matt?”

She grins tiredly, not bothering to open her eyes this time. “Matt Murdock. Also goes by Daredevil.” Foggy stares at her, his mouth open a little, and her grin just goes wider. “We used to date,” she adds mildly.

“Let me—let me just go call him for you,” Foggy says faintly, backpedaling slowly back into his apartment. He grabs for his phone, punching in the numbers automatically.

“You used to _date the Black Widow_ ,” he hisses into the phone when Matt picks up.

“What the hell,” Matt says.

“She is _on my fire escape_.”

“Why,” Matt says, in the tone of a man who cannot understand what is happening to his world. Foggy knows the feeling.

“We are going to have a _long_ discussion about you dating spy-superhero-badasses who can kill people with their thighs,” Foggy says warningly and hangs up. He goes back to the window and finds the Black Widow still grinning, the look on her face a clear sign that she heard every word.

“Uh, would you like a glass of water? Band-aid? To swap excruciatingly embarrassing stories about my best friend that we can dangle over his head?”

“I see why he likes you, Mr. Nelson,” she says, and wow, that is both flattering and terrifying. “I’d take a glass of water, and then let me tell you about Cancun.”

“Yesss,” Foggy says.

 

v.

This one has swords strapped to his back. Foggy pokes him once with his umbrella and beats a hasty retreat.

“He has _swords_ , Matt,” he says.

“Oh, Deadpool,” Matt replies, like this is all normal and perfectly fine. Foggy vehemently disagrees. “Why does this keep happening to you?” Matt asks as an afterthought.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Foggy groans.

“Well this sucks,” Foggy hears a voice say from the other room. It is followed quickly by the loud crash of _something_  breaking.

“You better get here quick,” Foggy hisses, and goes to make sure Deadpool isn’t bleeding on everything.

 

vi.

Matt is snoring, his face smushed into a pillow. He’s got a freshly stitched cut over his eyebrow and his hair is wet, probably from a shower to clean off all the muck and blood of daredeviling.

Foggy considers him, his head tilted to the side, and then prods him gently on the cheek with his finger.

The snores cut off almost immediately, but Matt doesn’t open his eyes. “Did you just poke me?” he says into the pillow, his voice muffled.

“That’s what I do when I find unconscious idiots. I poke them. Do you know you’re in my bed?” Foggy asks, amused.

“Was closer,” Matt says by way of explanation, and Foggy huffs.

“Yeah, yeah. Push over, you’re on my side.”

Matt snuggles further into his pillow—into _Foggy’s_ pillow—and doesn’t even try to move. Foggy pokes him again out of spite, once more in the cheek and then on the shoulder, before giving up and going around to the other side, flopping into bed and wrestling with Matt for control of his half of the covers.

“You’re a pain in my ass, Murdock,” he says groggily.

“Go to sleep,” Matt mutters into the pillow.

Foggy does.

+

(Matt wakes him up in the morning by poking him with the handle of a duster. Foggy didn’t even know he owned one of those.

“You’re out of orange juice,” Matt says cheerfully.

“I hate you so much,” Foggy says, and pulls his pillow over his head.)


End file.
